Before he could race to the nearest glider, a vessel on his left came to life. The door eased open as if summoning him. “A Queen’s Guard Patrol ship,” he whispered, equal parts awe and trepidation.
He could get much farther in a ship than an open glider, maybe even make it to another planet! No longer thinking about the metal box under his bed, Aidan seized the opportunity and eased his way inside.
He stared at the complex cockpit, suddenly overwhelmed. Anxiety set in. Aidan pulled at the collar of his shirt, frantically unbuttoning the top button. Then his hands felt the chain and the smooth disc around his neck—his medallion. Aidan touched it and closed his eyes. His mother’s voice echoed inside his head. “Always safe.”
With this new calmness, he took in his situation. “All right, you beautiful machine,” he said to the control panel, scanning the array of switches and buttons. “It seems you and I are destined to have an adventure.”
The general setup was similar to the smaller dashboard of the glider his stepfather owned. He was certain he could start the ship. But fly it? Er … no.
Aidan rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, considering his next move. He knew what the future held if he didn’t take this ship. He imagined his stepfather, glowering from the head of the table, criticizing Aidan’s every gesture.
And never mind the sneers from his stepbrothers. There would be Drake, bulging arms and low forehead, grinning with each rude remark. Then Morgan, pale and apathetic, sitting beside his older brother, staring at the scene without comment—like always.
I’m done with them, Aidan thought. The dagger and the ship, and the opportunity they represented, were making him brave.
A jaunty sense of hope quelled his apprehension. “Machines are simple,” he said, hoping to sound confident. “Just tell it what you want it to do.”
He pressed what he assumed was the main power button. The computer-generated voice of the ship was serene. “Prepare for launch. In T minus ten…”
There was a shudder as the ship’s power thrusters came to life, knocking Aidan off his feet. The back of his head bounced off the hard floor. The computer continued to count down as Aidan fought the darkness creeping around the edges of his vision. This time he was certain things couldn’t get much worse.
CHAPTER TWO
The afternoon sun stretched across the luminous tile of Delia’s chamber, just reaching the edge of her pedestal. From this vantage she could see across the kingdom. The palace looked over the residences of the lords within the high walls, then the surrounding lake, and farther down she could see the raised homes of counselors and dukes. The whole area was a tiered settlement built into the massive mountain. Then lower still, private landowners. The Dark District was there too, underneath everything else.
But Delia’s attention was focused on the cloud cover in the distance. She chided herself for not checking the atmospheric conditions more closely. It would be particularly miserable luck to have planned everything else, but fail because she’d forgotten to check the stupid weather.
“To the left, princess,” Marta said, her metallic voice detached yet respectful. She knelt at the hem. “Thank you.”
Delia conceded, turning on the spot. She could now see her younger sister, lounging on the chaise by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her finger scrolling across her infoscreen.
“Yes,” Shania said to the screen. “No.” Then she paused. “Hmm … maybe.” Her face was serious, but Delia knew her younger sister’s impish tone too well not to see through the sober countenance.
“Your interest in my torture borders on sadistic voyeurism,” Delia told her. She felt Marta’s hand brush against the end of her braid as she worked, her hair so long it nearly reached the floor.
“I’m researching the eligible bachelors that arrived last night … for your benefit, of course.” Shania continued scrolling, and then her face lit up. “Oh, here’s one! Prince Quinton of Rexula. He’s good-looking, has a degree in biospheric chemistry, and says he’s an accomplished competitor in battle ball.” She giggled, then added, “I have it on good authority that all the men from Rexula are trained in the necessary skills of battle and proper conduct of the court.”
Delia rolled her eyes. “Rexula has the largest supply of plasma in the Four Quadrants. It’s his energy supply I’m more interested in than his battle ball skills.”
Advisor Winchell stood over Shania, her braided hair tucked under her decorative headpiece of wallowing goose feathers. “Rexula is our closest planetary neighbor and largest trading partner.” She then glided across the room, her richly patterned robe flowing behind her. The only noise was the tapping of her cane on the tiles.
Seeing that Advisor Winchell was about to meet her gaze, Delia dropped her eyes to study Marta, now quietly working on the side seam of her wedding gown. She winced as Marta took a straight pin and secured a bit of fabric in place. The fit became more constricting with each tiny alteration.
Shania smiled at the infoscreen. “Can you imagine?” she said dreamily. “Someone strong enough to fight, yet graceful enough to dance you around the ballroom?” She gave a lazy sigh.
“If you’re so thrilled with the prospect of marrying a complete stranger,” Delia said from the pedestal, “why don’t you get up here and take my place?”
“I’d love to!”
“That’s enough, girls.” Advisor Winchell put up a hand to silence the pair. “Don’t take this parade of suitors lightly. It has no more to do with love than any of the other matches I have overseen all these years.”
“Strange,” Shania said. “You’ve always struck me as a romantic, Advisor Winchell.”
Delia braced for the reprimand, but their elderly mentor ignored Shania’s remark and instead put her attention back on Delia. “As firstborn to the queen, you benefit from all the advantages that station in life affords. And as firstborn, you know you have…”
“All the responsibility that comes with that privilege,” Delia finished. She knew the speech by heart. “Still, I can’t help but feel as though I’m being bartered off like a secondhand droid … sorry, Marta. No offense intended.”
The seamstress stayed quiet. The fabric tightened around Delia’s chest, making it difficult to take a deep breath. Desperation came to the surface as she began an argument she knew she’d never win. “But why do I have to be married right away?” Delia asked. “Why can’t I be one of the Queen’s Guard for a few years, or learn to become a diplomat, or go to the university first, or why—”
“Why can’t you stand still?” Marta interrupted. Delia felt the sharp poke of a pin, but she stayed silent.
The room went quiet—Marta never interrupted.
Delia’s pulse picked up. Something like suspicion flashed across Advisor Winchell’s face. Then it returned to its usual regal mask of appropriate apathy.
“Ouch,” Delia said, flinching away from another pin stick. “A little less rough please, Marta.”
“The intermittent fidgeting has caused the task to take fifteen percent more time to complete than I originally calculated.”